Did she love him?
She had always wanted Pierce for more than the blush of passion. Always. No other man had compared to his humor, his zeal, his family devotion. She wanted him for now, for tomorrow and all their tomorrows. But for the first time, she asked herself, could she match him in those sterling qualities? And could she honor and keep him as he so well deserved?
It was one thing to ask herself these things. She had a few answers.
She glanced over at Pierce. In profile to her, he was her ideal. The wealth of stark black hair. The clean brow, the perfect straight nose. His lips. Full. His jaw. Firm. His throat. The sum of him, healthy, strong and more handsome than any man she’d ever encountered.
Sensing her, he met her regard and his silver eyes caressed her. Her mouth, her nose, her hair, her heaving breasts in the low cut shantung. He smiled and a melting sensation swept down to her loins. He took her hand and squeezed it, directing his gaze to her fingers as he toyed with them. Through her gloves, she burned to touch him skin to skin.
She took her hand away. Her lips parted in apology, but no words came forth. Her nipples ached. She arched her back and shifted.
“Camille,” he whispered as he lifted her hand and kissed the back. “Try to enjoy this.”
She had to laugh. The play or his kisses? “It’s very difficult.”
“I agree.” He inhaled and tore his attention to the stage. “We must.”
She nodded and attempted it, didn’t she? For the sake of propriety and their family.
She would not endure this kind of temptation for long. If she did not find words to ask him of his feelings for her, she would burst with need and do something rash, unforgivable.
Tonight, she would begin the discussion with him. She must. Did he see her as a woman, full grown, with a regard for him that bespoke of more than their shared past? Could he love her as a woman? As a wife?
She must learn. Then stay or leave.
